


Smosh of Ages

by skywriter45



Category: Smosh
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Rock Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywriter45/pseuds/skywriter45
Summary: Rock of Ages but make it Smosh!Damien Haas moves from small town Virginia to LA in hopes of becoming a big time singer, where he meets fellow aspiring singer Shayne Topp, but the path of true love never did run smoothly.Meanwhile, the hopes of the most popular bar on the Sunset Strip, Smosh, are dependent on the infamous Courtney Miller to help save it from the mobs of angry protesters hoping to get rock 'n roll out of their city.Will Courtney Miller pull through and save Smosh? Will the protestors (led by the mayor's husband, known only as Sohinki) get what they want? Will Damien and Shayne make it through? Is the mayor having an affair with his assistant?Find out now on SMOSH OF AGES!!!
Relationships: Courtney Miller/Olivia Sui, Damien Haas/Courtney Miller, Damien Haas/Shayne Topp, David Moss/Matt Sohinki, Ian Hecox/David Moss, Wesley Johnson/Joshua Ovenshire
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Prolouge: Paradise City

YEAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! So what's poppin, party people? It's ya boi, Big Boss Boze, coming to you live from 1987! That's right, we're going back, to a sexier time. And if you were here, you could see this super hot chick driving past me right now. She's rockin steady in her Daddy's car, she's got the stereo with the big guitars, and that's all all right. 

(ALLLLLLLL RIGHTTTT!!!)

See, I've got the itch. I'm a restless soul. I come with the wind and go for broke. 

(AND IT'S ALLLLLLLL RIGHTTTTT!!!)

That's right, baby! Welcome to the Sunset Strip, a rock n' roll epicenter. Do you feel it? People come here when they have a dream. The winds of chance are here, along with a fair amount of hairspray. There's nowhere else to be! 

See, here we have our boy; Shayne Topp. Adorable! Shayne is a barback, here, at the legendary Jovenshire Smosh Room, owned by none other than the most baddass bar owner this side of...oh, anywhere! Meet Joshua Ovenshire (but you can call him Joven.) He owns this historic temple of rock n' roll. 

And, here, three thousand, three hundred and six Waffle Houses away, In bumfuck nowhere Virginia, we have our other boy, Damien Haas. He's a big fan of cherry slurpees, rock, and dreaming big. 

So here we go. 1987. Big cars, hair teased to the gods, and Motley Fuckin' Crue. Sit back, relax and let me tell you a story...


	2. Sister Christian - Just Like Paradise - Nothin´ But Good Time

Damien can barley hear the rumble of the bus over the music playing through his headphones. Who was it who invented the Walkman? Whoever they are, they must be mega rich by now. This is just _so_ much more convenient for traveling! 

And traveling he is indeed. He left the middle of nowhere Virginia with only three things; the blessing of his grandmother, fifty dollars in cash, and his record collection. He's headed to the City of Angels now; Los Angeles! A city full of light and opportunity! Oh god, what would he find there? So many people of so many different backgrounds, all working together and living in peace? Yes, the people there are friendly and help you cross the street, and everyone gets to achieve their dream with hard work and determination! A city that produced all those rockstars can't be all that bad, right. Especially rockstars like Courtney Miller. 

Ah, yes, Courtney Miller. Frontwoman of the biggest band in the world, PADILLA. (Yes, all caps. She's dramatic like that.) Maybe, just maybe, Damien might even be able to meet her! Who knows, with all those star studded streets, it could be entirely possible! And then she would ask Damien to sing for her, and be so impressed that she asks him to open for her band, and then they fall in love

Damien shook his head out of its stupor. That was probably stupid, right? He probably wouldn't even meet Courtney Miller, let alone get to sing for her, so that was stupid. But a boy can dream...

_You're motoring_  
_What's your price for flight_  
_In finding mister right_  
_You'll be alright tonight_

_*****************************_

Luckily there's a Waffle House right next to the bus station. Bodies are highly inconvenient to have, especially when you're hungry at the worst possible time. But the lights of Los Angeles are so pretty from here, glittering against a backdrop of hash browns and fluffy pancakes, and reflecting off those band posters on the walls...holy shit, is that PADILLA? Are they playing a show? Damien so totally has to go to that! 

So he casually pays the waitress (her name tag says "Boze" which is kind of a weird name, but hey! It's LA!) casually rips the poster off the wall and stuffs it in his bag, and sets off on his shiny new adventure. 

*******************************

Meanwhile, on a corner not too far away, Shayne Topp suffers. See, he's always workin', slavin', every day. He needs a chance just to get away. Not that it's not super dope working at the most famous bar in LA, but prestige comes with a price. And that price is constant exhaustion and being really fucking jacked. Poor baby. The cases of beer he's currently hauling won't be nearly enough to feed the crowd tonight. It's hundreds of people, most of whom can't be older than twenty-one headbanging to some band he's never heard of before. Knives and Daffodils? Bullets and Violets? Something stupid like that. He's sure they won't go far, not looking like that. 

Aaaaannnddd there's Shayne's unofficial boss, Wes, picking some guy up off the floor. He's making sure to get rid of all the junkies that hang around hoping someone famous will show up. Speaking of junkies..."Hey Wes, how come you never take out the trash?"

Wes takes out his comb and redoes his silver tease. (Throwing out junkies is hard work. Messes with your hair.) "I leave that to you. You're a musician, so it's important that you suffer. I'm talentless, so suffering's wasted on me."

"Oh yeah? When's the last time you suffered?" 

"Six o'clock this evening, when I got up for work!" Wes leaves with a beer in his hands, undoubtedly for him, and leaves the faint scent of Aquanet in his wake. 

Following the scent of Aquanet comes Shayne's official boss, Joshua (nobody calls him that. His name is Joven.) Joven owns Smosh, this here bar that is known for being the safe haven for all those who follow the gods of rock. He's one of the old ones, one of the ones who was at Woodstock '66 and saw the birth of modern music. He's seen all the old stars burn out or fade away into oblivion-Janis, John, Jimi-and now has become a star himself, albeit unwillingly. That's what happens when you outlive all the rest; you become a patriarch for the new world. 

That's what makes Smosh great. The massive dysfunctional chosen family that runs it. A haven for the long haired, strung out kids who can't find home anywhere else, because society makes it so. It bleeds rock n' roll; the scent of hairspray and alcohol, vomit, old secrets that nobody will ever discover, lives ended and new ones created. 

_Don't need nothin' but a good time_  
_How can I resist_  
_Ain't lookin' for nothin' but a good time_  
_And it don't get better than this_

*******************************

Los Angeles is...interesting, to say the least. Certainly not what Damien expected. So far, he's had to fight his way past a group of cops apprehending a thief, a gaggle of hookers who seemed very interested in him, and a dude playing air guitar in the middle of the street. It wasn't even good air guitar. His form was all wrong. And now, he's standing on a street corner by a bunch of very angry middle aged women who are carrying signs that seem out of place on the Sunset Strip. 

"Hey!" 

Damien just about jumps out of his skin, but it's just some guy in a leather jacket leaning against a lamp pole. "Oh, hey. Do you know how to get to Smosh from here?"

Leather Jacket Guy smirks. "What did you think these old broads are protesting? It's across the street. But, uh, the fact that you don't know that tells me you're from out of town."

Damien ducks his head. "Yeah. I just moved here from Virginia."

"Well, welcome to Hollywood." It then happens so fast Damien doesn't even have time to blink. The guy grabs onto his bag, the only thing he has left in the world, takes it, and runs. 

Damien attempts to chase after the guy, but he's so fast that he brunnette will never catch up. _Shit_. 

Luckily, it seems not all the passerby are willing to do nothing. He sees another guy run across the street, up to him. This other guy is cute. Shaggy blonde hair, well built, clearly must lift stuff quite a bit. "Hey, are you okay? Did he steal your money?"

Poor Dames realizes that he did indeed steal money and something much more valuable besides. "He took my records! My fucking records!"

Cute Blond Guy seems confused at Damien's distress at the loss of his records, but is clearly trying his best. "Look, I'm sorry this happened. It really sucks. Uhhhh...I'm Shayne."

"Damien." He gets a proper look at Shayne. "Wait, Smosh? You work at Smosh? That's so cool!"

"Yeah. I'm a barback, but one of these days, my name's gonna be on the marque instead of a punch card."

Damien laughs. Cute _and_ funny. "So you're in a band?"

The other laughs with him. "I'm actually a singer." 

"No way! me too! Oh god, you're so lucky. I have, like, a million albums that were recorded at Smosh."

Shayne takes a split second to reconsider. Okay, so maybe his job was pretty great, but it might be even better if he had someone to share it with. "Hey, uh, it might be a long shot, but do you need a job? I could speak to Jov-I mean Joshua Ovenshire, my boss. Just don't tell him you're a singer."

*******************************

The most important thing to understand about Smosh is that it's loud. Really fucking loud. So loud the bartender, a petite, dark skinned woman, can barley hear Joven over the screaming. "Oy, Boze, what do I keep reminding you? Girls drink free, dudes pay full price."

At this, the two long haired people in the shiny shirts turn around to reveal that they are, in fact, dudes. Boze, being loyal as she is, hasn't charged a girl since '73. (Mostly because she's trying to get with them. There are no straight people here. Moving on.) 

Shayne manages to come through the crowd, hauling a brown haired guy with a look of awe on his face. "Hey, Joven, this is Damien. He needs a job." 

Joven snorts into his glass of water (He's been sober since '83. That shit will fuck you up, man.) "Absolutely not. He's a singer."

Shayne lies through his teeth. "No no no, she's not. He just came in from out of town!"

"Mhmmm. Let me guess. You sang in the church choir on Sundays, senior year you had the lead in your high school musical, and someone, probably an adorable aunt, told you you had real talent, and so you dumped your cheerleader girlfriend, ditched town, and moved to Hollywood to get fame and fortune. Missing anything?"

Damien is in too much shock to tell him it was actually a cheerleader boyfriend. Instead, he decides to take action, grabbing an empty tray and bringing it top to the bar. "I can be a waiter! Please, just give me a chance!"

"Look, you seem like a nice kid-"

"I just got mugged. I have probably ten dollars left on me and I'll be homeless in forty-eight hours, maybe sooner if it turns out my hotel won't accept checks. Please."

Shayne cuts in. "Plus, Kimmy just quit. She was fed up with the jerks in here. Damien's a guy, he won't be prodded at as much." 

"Fuck, Kimmy quit?" Jiven sighs. "Fine. You start training tomorrow."

Damien breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much!"

A silver haired man pops up from behind Joven's shoulder. "What the hell are you thanking him for? He just ruined your life! This place is going to be a fucking madhouse tomorrow. It's PADILLA's last show. After this, Courtney Miller's going solo." 

This is all very important information, but it seems to be going over the heads of both Damien and Shayne. All they heard was hired, and are both seeing very different possibilities of where this could go. Shayne decides to take a risk. "Hey, do you wanna go celebrate? My break is in ten minutes."

He looks at Damien, who has the stars in his eyes, not yet broken by the harsh reality of the city, and yeah. Shayne's so fucked. 

_Girl, we've been meant for this_  
_Since we were born_  
_No problems now (the coast is clear)_  
_It's just the calm before the storm_

_This must be just like livin' in paradise_  
_And I don't want to go home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got real emo writing parts of this so RIP me.  
> I'm so excited for this fic! It's been a long time coming.  
> You know the drill! Comments and kudos are much loved!  
> Also, if you want a soundtrack, I'm using the movie as a template instead of the musical, so that would be the soundtrack.  
> Much love! <3  
> (Also no shade to Guns & Roses, I just thought it would be funny.)


	3. Juke Box Hero - I Love Rock ´n Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's the 80s, but in this universe homophobia doesn't exist and same sex couples can get married in the 80s ok thanks.

Approximately three Waffle Houses away, in a killer house in Beverley Hills, there is a party going on. It's not actually a party, not like the ones we know. This one has soft classical music playing and well-dressed people mingling in soft voices, waiting for a speech by their new mayor, Mr. David Moss. 

New Mayor Moss finally takes the stage, clearing his throat to stop all the soft mingling. "Thank you all so much for being here. You know, recently a constituent of mine told me that she had teenagers, and that these days, she's scared For them. We need to clean up this city! And then she proceeded to ask me if I felt the same. Well, I told her what she needed to hear, but the truth is, I'm not afraid. And that's because I've a got a secret weapon; my rock, the love of my life, my husband, Sohinki." 

From behind Mayor Moss comes a lanky man in a black suit with a malevolent gleam in his eye. "Thank you darling. You're right, there's no reason to be scared. We are going to clean up Los Angles and restore it to it's former glory, even if it's the last thing we do."

********************************

"Oh, _fucking_ bullshit. Who is this greasy looking man to tell us how to live?"

Wes pops a grape in his mouth. "I dunno. He looks really familiar to me though. Does he look familiar to you?" 

Joven snorts. "I don't know him, but I've had to throw his husband out of this bar a few times. Hell of a rowdy man. And now, look at him. Married to a man who looks like he's been hibernating in Regan's personal sex dungeon. What the hell happens to people?"

His silver haired counterpart tosses a few locks back. "They get seduced by the man, get old and bitter and run for mayor. Or they run a club, continue to live the rock n' roll dream and get old and bitter that way."

The older man takes a sip of his drink, silently hoping it magically turned into vodka when he wasn't looking. "I prefer the latter."

"Me too, Jovie. Me too."

_I love rock n' roll_   
_So put another dime in the jukebox, baby_   
_I love rock n' roll_   
_So come an' take your time an' dance with me_

********************************

Sure, it's a record store, but Shayne and Damien aren't even looking at the records. Instead, they're sneaking glances at each other and racking their brains for something to say when Damien's eyes fall on something he knows all too well. "Oh my god, PADILLA live at Smosh! This is my favorite record ever!"

Shayne looks up, immensely grateful for the topic. "Same! I adore that record. It really changed my life."

At Damien's raised eyebrow, he continues. "I decided that if I couldn't see Courtney Miller, I was gonna _be_ Courtney Miller. I bought a beat up six string at a second hand store, didn't know how to play it, but I knew for sure that that one guitar felt good in my hands, and then I understood..." He trails off at Damien's expression. "Sorry. Rambling."

The other smiles that radiant smile. "It's okay. You ramble good. I mean well. It almost sounds like song lyrics or something." 

The blonde smiles back. "Really? That's super cool." His face falls. "But the problem is, I'll only ever be good on a jukebox. I...I get stage fright."

Damien turns away from the album to face his friend. "You're kidding." 

"Uhh, no."

"You just gotta breathe! C'mon. In through your mouth, out through your mouth. Works every time." 

"Maybe we could get together tomorrow and you could help me practice. Eight o'clock work?" 

Damien stares at his the other's eyes, then at his smile, then at the PADILLA album in his hand, mind spinning. He is _so_ fucked. 

_And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes_   
_He's a juke box hero_   
_He took one guitar (juke box hero, stars in his eyes)_   
_Juke box hero, (stars in his eyes) he'll come alive tonight_

***********************************

"Goodnight Mr Sohinki! And you too, Mr Moss." Ian shoots a wink at David as he heads out the door, knowing Matthew won't see. Not that he would care. 

"Why so jumpy, darling?" Sohinki nearly scares his husband out of his skin. David runs a hand through his hair, trying to act normal. "It's just the Strip. People are really expecting us to clean it up." 

Matthew raises an eyebrow. "Well of course, darling. But don't worry, I've got a plan. See, what you do is you go after the head of the snake."

David raises an eyebrow. 

His husband rolls his eyes. "Smosh. If we cut off the head, the Strip will die. Smosh could be dead in the water by the end of the month."

"Well, in that case, I would get the health department on it, and the church groups."

"Trust me, if we find so much as a hair in the cocktail olive, we're shutting them down."

*********************************

"Hey Joven, we found another hair in the cocktail olives."

"Well rinse them off then." Joven turns to Wes, who clearly isn't paying attention. "I love Boze, but sometimes I don't know what to do with that girl."

"Yeah, but it's more than just Boze, huh? What's up?" Wes finally turns from his game to sit on the elder's desk. 

"Taxes. They're so un-rock n' roll." 

"Well, cheer up mate. You've still got the sisters of piety outside still flustered and worked up so we must be doing something right."

"Yeah, except we still have the PADILLA show coming up, which means we're reliant on Courtney Miller to bring us some money."

"Courtney Miller? Seriously? The most unreliable person in music? The woman who blew off the Superbowl halftime show in order attend a Satantic ritual to speak to the ghost of _Robert Fucking Kennedy?_ This can't end well."

"Yeah, well, neither do most things in our world. Give me the phone, I'm calling her manager. Make sure we're still on."

******************************

Matt Raub is a big man in charge of big talent, who happens to be holding an absolutely massive phone when it rings. It's that fucking twat, Joshua Ovenshire. 

"Hey Joven, man, what can I do for you?"

His voice comes through the speaker in crackles and static, making Matt Raub wince. "Hey Matt! I was just wondering if we're still on for Friday? PADILLA's last show!"

_Shit._ He had completely forgotten about that. "Yeah, of course! Kickin' off Courtney's solo career! And Rolling Stone even confirmed that they want to interview her on the premises, so more good publicity for you!" 

An intern runs up to Matt, looking frazzled. "She just told me to turn off the radio."

"Then turn off the fucking radio."

"The one in her head!" The intern runs off, and Matt Raub sighs internally. Another one bites the dust. 

"Hello? Matt?" Shit, the phone is still on. "Is Courtney okay?"

Raub puts on a fake cheery voice. "Of course! I'm actually looking at her right now!" (He's not. He's looking at one of her security guards.) "Hey, listen, I've gotta run. Big concert in ten. But yeah, sure, Friday!" He hits the 'end call' button, turning to the security guards. "She had better be fucking in there."

In response, they open the door into the private rooms of Courtney Miller.

********************************

Courtney Miller is, at her core, actually a very simple person. She only wants three things; women, rock, and extravagance. Which is why she's created this dressing room to vaugely resemble a jungle, if you're constantly coked up and orgasm high, which she is. It's not a bad room, actually, until someone's grating voice pierces the white noise of the pile of sleeping, barley clothed women. "Yo, Courtney, let's go."

At this, Courtney Miller stands up, shedding the bedclothes and women surrounding her. "Wha the fuck, Matt. We were just having a good time."

The man and his blurry twin brother both sigh deeply. "C'mon Court. You gotta get on stage." 

Ah, poor fool. "All the world's a stage, man, and all the men and women are merely players."

Her manager rolls his eyes. "Whatever, just get in stage. And put a fucking shirt on."

"Hey, it's nothing they haven't seen before." 


	4. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter for this little number, but I wanted it in there.

"Take a good look, ladies. Take a good...long...hard... _long_ look at this woman. This is the woman who is responsible for so much filth being put into this world. Instead of doing her job and being a good woman, she's out there putting _sex_ into the world, getting our kids on _drugs_ , and committing total _blasphemy!"_

A collective gasp comes up from the church ladies, and one in the back appears to faint.

Behind them, Mayor Moss and his dear assistant Ian look on. "See, this is why I married him. Sohinki's just so good at mobilizing the people." (He didn't marry Sohinki because of that. They got married because his father is filthy rich, but you didn't hear that from me.) 

Ian sighs. "Indeed, sir."

At this, David leans over to his assistant. "That being said, I do have some...dictationI need you to take, Ian." 

"Of course, sir. There is a corner office for the priests, if that will be sufficient?"

"I believe that will be quite sufficient, thank you."

Matthew Sohinki watches them go from the corner of his eye, suspicions confirmed. So his husband is screwing the assistant, huh? Well, as long as it keeps him distracted, good. If Mayor Moss is useless, Sohinki can claim all the work and get the mayorship for himself. Or blackmail his husband into electing him mayor, whichever comes first. 

He turns to the poster of Courtney Miller at the front of the church. Friday night, they cut off the head of the snake. Saturday, they tear down the strip. Sunday, they rest, and then Monday. Monday he becomes Mayor Matthew Sohinki of Los Angeles. 

_Go on, Courtney Miller, hit me with your best shot._


	5. Waiting For a Boy Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a tiny (and I mean tiny, I'm not that good at writing smut) bit spicy in this chapter, but it's not super important to storyline, so it's totally skipable if that's not your thing.

"Oy! Loverboy!"

Shayne snaps out of his trance, realizing he'd been staring at Damien's punchcard for way too long. "What's up, Sarah?"

The woman speaks, her pigtails bobbing with her head. "Joven wants all of us to come in early tomorrow. Big show."

He nods distractedly, not paying attention. "Yeah, sure. Listen, I gotta go. Big date tonight with Damien!"

"Yeah, I know. We all know. That's all you've talked about all week."

"I know, right? Wish me luck!"

Sarah sighs. Well, hopefully that idiot found another idiot to make him happy. 

**************************

The smell of Aquanet in the dressing rooms is enough to make anyone barf into the nearest trashcan, excpet that...yep, someone's already in that one. Great. 

It's not like Damien can afford to throw up right now, anyways. He's got that big date with Shayne. The other man had been pretty cagey about where they were going, but Damien trusted Shayne not to murder him. Mostly. Hopefully it was somewhere big and shiny, where they could see the city and dance the night away...or more. 

Damien had always been pretty reserved in the past with his relationships. He'd had a boyfriend in high school, but that hadn't lasted. Flitz had expected him to settle down right quick, and wasn't so pleased when Damien had announced his desire to move to LA. Funny, for a dancer. He had suggested that they go together, get an apartment and get married in the big city, but Damien had wanted to find himself first. Flitz...Amara had already found himself, so he had no need for the city. 

Dames, though, he needed the city. It would tell him who he was, who he was meant to be. It would guide him to his destiny. And maybe, just maybe, Shayne was part of that destiny. A guy he just happened to meet on the street, a barback with big, strong muscles, who could pick him up and throw him against a wall...

Damien blushed when he realized the directions his thoughts were going in. _Honestly, it's a first date. That most that will probably happen is that he might kiss you._

But a boy can dream...

*************************

"Oh my god, the view from up here is incredible!"

"I know, right?"

"I mean, look at all those lights!"

"Lights?"

Damien turns to Shayne, rolling his eyes. "Oh, I get it, I'm the view. Very funny. But seriously, look at it!"

Shayne has seen Los Angeles a million times from this vantage point, but he's never seen something so beautiful as Damien up here. He shines against the stars, brighter than all of the city lights combined. Hell, Shayne might even write a song about it.

"So what did your parents think of the the big move out here?"

The blonde sighs internally. _Of course, family._ "My mom wasn't a huge fan. My dad...he told me that if I was going to fail anyway, why not fail closer to home?"

He can hear his date wince. "Ouch."

"Anyways, how about you? How did your folks react?"

"I, uh, I was raised by my grandma. But for the record, she was all for it. Said she wanted me to get out before I died there, like her." 

"Sounds like a pretty cool grandma."

Damien laughs, and it's carried on the wind. "Yeah, I guess so. I adore her." 

Radio silence for a bit, and then. "Can I say something totally stupid?"

Shayne turns to the other. "Yeah. I love stupid."

Damien takes a breath. "It just feels like...like I've been waiting. Waiting for someone like you to come into my life."

His counterpart breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh my god, I was going to say the same thing! It's like we were meant for each other, or something cheesy like that." He lays down, closes his eyes. "Honestly, that would make so much sense, like predestination."

"Yeah, like a poorly written novella or something."

*********************************

_Shayne's Dream Sequence_

_Hands. Hands everywhere. Crawling up and down his spine, his chest, his...oh. That's not where hands typically go. It's been a while for him, as he works so damn much, but ever since Damien has come around, the dreams have become more frequent. And indeed, it's a pair of big green eyes that are looking up at him from his place on the couch, in...Joven's office? Weird place to do this, but he's not complaining, not with Damien on his knees looking up at him and the sensation closing around his...oh. OH._

****************************

"Yo, Shayne, you still awake?" 

The younger man shook out of his dream, doing his best to cover up his "problem". "Uh, yeah. I'm good."

Damien raises an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, how about you sing me a song? Just breathe, in and out."

"God, do you ever shut up?"

"Nope. Not unless someone makes me."

"Well, in that case..." Shayne silently prayed he wasn't reading the situation wrong before pressing his lips to Damien's. For a split second, there was no reaction, and he freaked out, but then there was an opening, and pushback, and...oh. 

So that's what falling in love feels like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not a lot, but my ace ass had a hard time with this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed.


	6. More Than Words - Heaven

_Montage: Shayne and Damien on various dates. Rollerblading in the sun, playing on the beach and in the waves, going to the movies. Scenes from the music they play, and a shot that pans from Shayne's bedroom window out, obviously implying something nefarious is going on. All in all, just a couple of kids in love._

Record scratch. Freeze frame. 

Back at Smosh, there is a situation unfolding. "Our opener just dropped out."

"Concrete Balls?"

"They're in rehab."

"Both of them?"

"There are six of them."

"Jesus that's a lot of balls. Do you think they do therapy all together or in pairs?"

Joven sighs. "Shut the fuck up. Look, we have two hours to find a new opener."

Behind Joven and Wes, Damien's ears perk up and he turns to look at his bosses. "Hey, what about Shayne?"

"What about Shayne?"

"He could open for PADILLA!"

Joven and Wes turn to the brunette with wide eyes. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? Listen, it could be great! And he'll do it for free. Besides, nobody even pays attention to the opening act."

The two older men look at each other, and something seems to transpire between them for a split second before Joven sighs. "Fine. Three songs, no covers. And it had better be good, so start drinking now." He looks over at Shayne, who has watched all this happen with wide, unbelieving eyes. "Get your band together."

Shayne snaps out of it and whoops, turning to the stage. "Hey guys, we're opening for PADILLA!"

In return, the roadies cheer, and one of them drops his boyfriend in his excitement. 

Joven rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink (it's some kind of juice concoction that Wes whipped up for him. How thoughtful.) "Doesn't anyone just wanna work in the bar industry anymore?"

Shayne strolls up to Damien, kisses him on his forehead. "I love-"

"-shhh. Just go up there and kill it, okay?"

The blonde is a bit confused at why Damien wouldn't want to hear that he loved the other, but he's also too giddy to think about it. They finally have a gig! Instead, he kisses his boyfriend again and hops on stage, because they're opening for the biggest band in the world tonight and they need to practice. 

Damien stares lovingly at him, as Boze comes up with a tray. "Well, kiss him goodbye, I guess."

"What?"

"The spotlight doesn't just light them up. It makes us disappear."

That wouldn't happen with Shayne, right? He loves him too much for that. See, it's not that he doesn't want Shayne to tell him he loves him, but it would just be so much easier to show it. Sure, words are great, but what they have so so much more than words. If he could show it, Damien would already know. And Damien loves him, of course. When they're together, it truly feels like Heaven isn't too far away. 

*****************

The Sunset Strip is eighteen types of crazy tonight. The sight would make Courtney glad, if she wasn't coked up enough not to feel anything. All those people, waiting for her, cheering for her. Matt Raub is in the seat next to her, babbling about something or other, and the driver, a petite, dusky woman whose name she didn't bother to learn seems stressed. She's trying not to hit the girls who throw themselves in front of the limo, trying to catch a glimpse of the superstar inside. 

The superstar inside is preceded by her manager, who looks like he git hit by a tour bus. Joven sighs with relief. "Matt Raub! You're here early."

The bigger man matches his expression. "Actually, I told her the gig was yesterday, so technically we're a day late." His phone rings, and he sighs. "Work, work, work."

From behind him, covered only by assless chaps and a fur coat, comes Courtney Miller. She's looking around, and for some reason, she recognizes this place. She's been here before, played gigs here. She took her first line of coke here, and kissed a girl for the first time here when she was only a teenager. In many ways, it's home. 

"Hey, Courtney! Welcome back to Smosh!"

The guy in front of her is older, with glasses and some kind of shirt of a band she's sure is irrelevant, but she knows who he is. He's Joven, the closest thing she's ever had to a father. "Hey, Joven. Great to be back." 

Courtney seems to be high out of her fucking mind, which was expected, but at least she recognizes him. That's one victory point towards saving Smosh. "Can't wait to hear you play tonight, babe."

"Yeah." She gazes up at the roof, as if seeing things that aren't there. "Don't worry man, when I'm done here, we're gonna have to burn the fucking place to the ground."

Wes, sitting at the bar, snorts as he watches her wander off to the talent dressing room. "Yeah, we just fucking might."


	7. Wanted Dead or Alive-I Want to Know What Love Is

"Oy, Court."

No response. 

"Courtney Miller!"

Still no response. 

"Hey, Court-bort! Somebody here to see you!"

Courtney MF Fucking Miller finally opens one eye. "I told you not to call me that." From out the corner of her eye, she sees a disgruntled Matt Raub and some red blob. The red blob shifts, then becomes a woman, and quite a pretty one at that. "And who are you, darling?"

The woman, in a red suit and a frown, ignores the pet name. "Olivia Sui, Rolling Stone."

"Ah, that funny, because I don't see Mick. I don't mind, though, because you're much prettier."

The woman is less than impressed, but shows no sign of emotion on her face. "If I can just have five minutes of your time to talk about your impending solo career."

Courtney raises an eyebrow. Strange, that usually works to get them to show something. "Fine. Five minutes, starting now."

"So, Courtney Miller, you've produced some of the greatest rock anthems of all time with PADILLA. Why choose now to go solo?"

Courtney sighs. Shame this one was as predictable as any other. "Why the hell not?"

Olivia's jaw tightens, but she can't let the rockstar see that she's getting to her. "You know, some people have been saying you're hard to work with. Showing up late, nonsensical, strung out..."

As yes, the classic question. "So?"

"So, those people are your band."

Yes, her band. Her dear, sweet, falling apart band. Was it her fault it was falling apart? If you asked Courtney, she'd say no. She'd blame it on Keith and Noah's desires to finally start a family. She'd blame it on Spencer's weird new girlfriend, who seemed to hate Court with a passion for no reason. She'd blame it on Boze for her strange schedule and odd disappearances, popping up days later with no explanation. She'd blame it on falling record sales or new technology or Mercury in retrograde if it meant having the blame shouldered on her, where it firmly belonged. "This interview is over."

Olivia was flabbergasted. "What? It hasn't even been five minutes!"

"Doesn't matter, get out." Behind Courtney's steely gaze, something like hurt flashed. "You have no idea what it's like to be me."

The other woman sheds her suit jacket, silently hoping she's getting somewhere. "So tell me, then. What is it like to be the one and only Courtney Miller?"

****************************

_1983_

_It's all the same, only the names will change._

_Smosh is hella crowded, as usual. Tonight it's hosting Motley Crue, which is, like, a massive deal. Courtney can barley stand up straight in these heels, but it will all be worth it when Vince Neil sees her tonight. You don't need to stand when you're getting-_

_And somebody just pickpocketed her. Great._

_Honestly, it's still worth it. This is the biggest band this side of anywhere, and the fact that it's all happening at Smosh makes it even more exciting. The opener, some band who no one likes or knows, is on stage, playing a song that is fun but ultimately forgettable, when someone catches her eye. The petite, dark skinned woman looks out of place, like she just left Woodstock and hadn't realized fifteen years had passed. They make eye contact, sustain it for a minute, and something like recognition flits in front of the woman's eyes, but it's gone just as soon as it came, and with it, the woman disappears into the crowd._

_The bathrooms at Smosh are also hella crowded, but that's to be expected when they're co-ed. That, and the fact that most people aren't using them to go to the bathroom._

_There's also a couple making out in the sink, which is annoying, as Courtney has been booted from her previous one by an a stressed looking Kimmy. When she asks them to please move, they are graciously accomodating, or they're high out of their minds. Whatever. The tall, dark skinned man moves his equally tall, rail-thin partner out of the way to head back to the dance floor. Courtney takes them time to thank the darker man, whom she thinks she knows (Kenneth? Keith? Something like that) and his boyfriend replies with an easy, "Far out, dude."_

_From her mirror, Courtney sees a head peek out from a stall. It;'s the same girl from before, looking at Court with big, curious eyes. She sees the blonde looking at her, freezes, and makes her way out of the stall hurriedly. Wow, that's weird, but not the weirdest thing Courtney's seen here tonight. The other woman is probably just tripping on something. It's fine._

_Still, Courtney can't shake the feeling of recognition when she sees her._

******************************

"Excuse me! Courtney Miller!"

The rockstar jumps out of her flashback. "You're still here?"

The reporter raises an eyebrow, the most reaction she's given today. "I asked you a question."

"Ahhhh yes, what's it like to me be." Court smooths down her hair, reassembles her persona. "Watch and learn, baby."

They walk out into the main room of Smosh, both searching for something. Courtney finds what she needs easy. There's a boy standing in front of her, completely starstruck. He's kinda cute, soft hair and big brown eyes, but most importantly, he's willing. They're all willing. 

The woman walks forward, gently lifts the boy's chin up. He melts like putty. "What's your name, sunshine?"

He shivers. "I'm, uh, I'm Damien. Your music really helped me when my hamster died."

Cute. Pathetic. "Well, Damien, do you think you could do me a favor?"

He nods frantically. "Yeah, of course, anything."

The blonde lifts his hair up, whispers in his ear. "There's a bottle of Jack in the limo. Think you can go get it for me?"

Damien's eyes go wide. "Yeah, of course." He scampers off towards the back. 

Behind them, Olivia is less than impressed, and at this point, she doesn't care who knows it. "What the fuck, Courtney?"

The rockstar turns to her, trying and failing to hide her shock at Olivia's anger. "What? Why do you care? You'll get your turn later, baby."

"What the fuck happened to you? You used to be great. I've been following you my entire career, from the first show here at Smosh to the fifty thousand person stadiums, and now you're just another rocker asleep at the wheel. You used to write great songs. Where are they now?"

Court, for her part, is stunned and a little turned on. _This_ is what she's been chasing all day. _This_ is what she used to get when she sang for those fifty thousand person crowds, until she numbed with drugs and girls. And honestly? It makes her a little bit mad. Who the fuck is this woman to tell her how to live? To tell her that her music is stagnant, and so is her life?

But, on the other hand, _yes._ So much yes. This could be a new drug, a drug that never runs out, that keeps supplying you with the same high no matter how many times you use it. 

Olivia can't believe she just spilled her guts to this...woman. I mean, who does that? But God, she's so irritating, and impossible to work with, and so fake deep, and Olivia can't believe she spent so much time over the course of her life falling in love with Courtney Freaking Miller. 

But, she's spent her whole life falling in love with Courtney Miller. These were the songs that made her, the songs she danced to and the songs she kissed her ex-girlfriend to. Courtney Miller was part of her, like her arms and legs. 

Well, guess they were both fucked then. 


	8. I Wanna Rock-Pour Some Sugar On Me

Fucking finally, Damien had found the bottle of Jack.

And there goes the bottle of Jack, all over the floor, and this person's leather pants. 

He had run into what felt like a solid brick wall, except warm, and _ohmygodIt'sCourtneyFreakingMiller_. 

Shit.

"Oh, god, I am so sorry! It didn't see you there!"

The rockstar cuts off Damien's nonsensical babbling, too overwhelmed to pay any real attention. "It's fine, just leave it." 

The brunette nods. 

"Quiet! Quiet down, you massive soup of estrogen and testosterone, I need you to lower your expectation and also help me welcome-" Wes covers the mic and turns offstage. "Oy, Shayne, what's the name of your band?"

The other man, just off stage left, runs a sweaty hand through his hair. "It's...it's Munge."

The elder looks at him with a raised brow. "And you're going with that, are you?"

A nod. Crap, is Munge not a good name? Should he have chosen something different? 

"Please welcome to the stage, the very poorly titled, Munge!"

No cheering. Someone yells, "We want PADILLA!" 

Shayne looks around desperately for Damien, hoping for some last minute reassurance. 

And there he is, looking cheerful as ever. Followed by...who is he being followed by? 

Holy shit, is that Courtney Miller? Lacing up her pants? 

And of course, because everything can be heard from a backstage area, he hears their conversation. "Holy shit, I can't believe that just happened! Thank you so much!"

Courtney nods. "Yeah, no, thank you."

And that's when Shayne's heart breaks. Because of course. Damien had mentioned his crush on the star before, but mostly as a joke. Everybody has a crush on Courtney Miller. 

Not everybody gets the chance to hook up with her, despite having a boyfriend of their own. But it doesn't matter, does it? Because Courtney Miller is a rockstar, and Shayne's just some guy with a guitar. Just a wannabe with no talent and no real shot at love. 

Unless.

Unless he _becomes_ Courtney Miller, like he always intended. Then, everybody loves you. Then, he won't need Damien, because he'll have the whole world at his feet. He'll be good enough for anyone, even Damien, but he won't need him. He won't _want_ him.

That's what he tells his breaking heart.

"Oy, Shayne!" Wes looks exasperated and a bitt fearful of the frothing crowd. "Wanna get out here and do something?"

"Yeah." Shayne is resolute. "I wanna rock."

***********************

Okay, so that went better than expected. Actually, way better than expected. The crowd had been a bit frosty at first, but eventually they got into the groove of things. It turns out Shayne really could play, and Joven wasn't just saying that because he'd been having shots all night. (Of water. Shots of water.) Indeed, Damien couldn't have been happier with the end result. He comes outside, follows Shayne into the cold night air. The blonde is standing on the edge of the artist's entrance, drinking straight from a bottle of vodka. "Holy shit, babe, that was amazing! You really rocked it out there!"

His boyfriend laughs dismissively, making Damien furrow his eyebrows. "What? Are you mad or something?"

"No, I'm great! I'm celebrating a great gig!" He's getting progressively drunker.

"Okay, well you're obviously not. Hey, just look at me-"

Shayne turns around to face the other, anger clear on his face. "Look at you? Why should I look at you? There were hundreds of you's out there, and tonight, they were all looking at me."

Before Damien can think, his hand comes up and hits the other clear across the face. "Boze was right. The spotlight..." He runs off, distraught, not giving Shayne any time to think. 

Next to Shayne's drunk-ass face appears a burly man in a nice clean suit that looks out of place at an establishment like this. "Hey man, great show tonight." he offers a hand to shake. "Matt Raub. I'm Courtney Miller's manager, as well as a bunch of other well-known talent. And, if you want it, I'm yours. Now," he looks in the direction Damien left, "you want love, go get it. But I can offer you something a way rarer and a lot more valuable."

The two men make eye contact for the first time. "And what is that?"

"Fame."

***********************

_Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on_  
_Livin' like a lover with a radar phone_  
_Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp_  
_Demolition woman, can I be your man?_

_Hell of a song to be listening to as someone goes down on you, Courtney thinks, but if that's what's on Boze's playlist, then so be it. After all, they were going to perform something very similar for five thousand people shortly._

_Oh God, five thousand people. Court's not sure she's ever seen five thousand people, let alone sung for them. And yet, here she is, killing time as five thousand people wait to see their faces. Her face._

_Boze lifts her own face from Courtney's crotch, frowning. "You're thinking too hard. I can tell. What's up?"_

_"It's just...all those people, Bozey. All waiting to see us." Her._

_"Yeah, but isn't that what you wanted? All those people cheering for you? Court-ney, Court-ney, Court-ney..."_

_Before the blonde can answer, a knock on the door of their dressing room. "Ladies! Come help me find your bandmates and let's get this show on the road!"_

_Both the women simultaneously groan. They know exactly where Keith and Noah are, making out in a bathroom somewhere, no doubt. And Spencer's probably out scoring coke from a guy who dresses like a pimp but has never had sex with anyone he didn't have to pay. The two women stand up, and Courtney floats out of the room like the angel she's not sure she is anymore. Boze stops and looks around the room, watching her go._

_She will always watch her go._


	9. Harden My Heart-Shadows Of The Night-Here I Go Again

It's raining in Los Angeles tonight, and Joven and Wes take that as a sign of good fortune. 

"Thirty-one thousand dollars, crisis averted. Thank you Courtney Miller." Joven slides the bag of money across the table, putting his head in his hands. Wes stands next to him, a silent support system. 

"And Courtney Miller thanks you." And there's Matt Raub, with a greasy smile. "And, if I've done my math correctly, Raub industries has a take of thirty-one thousand and six dollars. Which means you owe us six dollars, but what's a few bucks among friends."

Wes and Joven are, for their part, astounded. Who the fuck is this guy to waltz in and demand money? Yeah, he's the biggest manager in Hollywood, but still. Fuck you, man. Don't take their hard-earned money. Wes does so much as to tell him so. "I thought we agreed this was a freebie! Hell, she even owes us! We gave her her first gig!"

"Yeah, and I gave her her first million." The man and his bodyguards take the satchel of money off the table with a smirk. "Ciao boys."

The two other men stand there in shock and awe. "Didn't know Matt spoke Italian."

***********************

It's raining in Los Angeles tonight, which is never a good thing. Damien is soaked and chilled to the bone, being in only his t-shirt and shorts. He can hardly feel the cold, though, because the emotion inside is keeping him warm. 

All those good times with Shayne, were they nothing? Did they mean nothing? Was he just a means to an end? And Damien, like a fool, had fallen for him. He fell in love, hard and fast. With a man who didn't give two flying fucks about him. _There were hundreds of you's out there._ Like he was replaceable. Disposable. 

And the worst part is, Shayne was probably right. LA was full of boys with brown hair and big smiles. Well, bully for them, then. They'd all get the chance to shack up with Shayne Topp, and Damien would be left here in the rain, waiting for something that would never, ever come. Because Shayne didn't care about anyone but himself. He just pretended to care in order to get what he wanted from someone, them left them in the dust.

Like a proper rockstar.

************************

It's raining in Los Angeles tonight, and Mari sees it as a portent of a big storm coming. 

See, Mari owns the Venus De Milo strip club, not a block down from Smosh. She's out there, watching the rain, when someone literally stumbles onto her doorstep. It's a man, a boy really, who looks sad and wet, and her heart melts a little bit. He mutters and apology, but she reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Oh no baby, you're coming with me."

The dim light of the club allows her to make the boy out a little better. He's cute, with shaggy brown hair and big eyes, and she's willing to bet that he made all the girls go wild in whatever backwater he's from. He would even now, if he didn't look like a kicked puppy. She sits him down, motions to Boze to make him a drink. It's kind of funny, really, seeing him realize where he is for the first time. His eyes go wide and there's a blush on his face illuminated by the soft red lighting. She's used to it, doesn't even blink, but he's clearly a novice, seeing the attractive men and women dancing on stage and taking it all in. He takes the drink from Boze, thanks her without a second thought, then finally turns to Mari. "I need a job."

She's surprised at this, but chooses not to show it. "Do you dance?"

The boy ducks his head, embarrassed at the very thought of dancing. "No, but I sing."

"Well, I don't need singers. But," she takes a look at his face again, "we could use some more waiters."

He signs, obviously relived. "Done. I'm Damien."

Outside, the rain comes down even harder. "Everyone here calls me Mama Mari."

**********************

It's raining in Los Angles tonight, and to Sohinki, it represents the divine justice he's about to bring the Sunset Strip.

"Darling, what would you say if I told you Smosh hadn't payed taxes in over a year?"

Lasercorn turns to his husband. "Why?"

"Because it's true. They're broke!" The two men look at each other, then burst into laughter. "This is great! I'm gonna call the press, tell them the truth about that place."

Lasercorn is plenty happy about this news, but something's niggling at the back of his head. "Sohinks, it's not that I'm not thrilled about this, but you seem to have this...issue with Courtney Miller. It seems kind of...personal."

His husband's face grows shadowed. "Well, when I was just a naive child in college, I had a roommate. Let's call her...Erika. On night, she was innocently partying at Smosh, when that two-headed monster spotted her, and lured her close. For the first time, she felt like a woman. Sure, a handcuffed woman covered in Cool Whip and wild turkey, but a woman nonetheless. Well, you can guess what happened next. Courtney's tour bus left LA, and it left her devastated. I swore, in her honor, that I would see Courtney Miller and her sick Satanic legacy gone for good."

 _Sure,_ Lasercorn thinks, surprised at this new information about his mate. _A roommate._

**********************

It raining in Los Angeles tonight, and Shayne Topp may not know where he's going, but he sure knows where he's been. And hell if he'll ever be there again. 

With a cheating ex-boyfriend and a dead end job at a bar and no prospects. Signing with Matt Raub was the best thing he could've done for himself. 

Right?

Yeah, sure. Of course. This was the path! This was the way forwards! Soon, he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. He'd finally _be_ Courtney Miller, and all his problems would be solved. His heart would heal, and he'd be whole again. And this time, he'd be a fucking rockstar.

Right?

The rain comes down even harder, flooding the streets. 


	10. Can't Fight This Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I regret everything about this chapter? Yeah, kinda.  
> Enjoy! <3

Joven sits in the dark of his office, thinking about Wes. No, sorry, taxes. He's thinking about taxes. (He's thinking about Wes.)

Speak of the devil, here he comes, all silver hair and ripped t-shirt. The fans practically ripped it off him tonight while he was trying to do crowd control, and all Joven can think it that god, he should be the one ripping shirts off the younger man.

"How are you doing, Jovie?"

The darker-haired one takes off his glasses, rubs them with what's left of his own shirt. "If we don't get that money soon, we'll be screwed. I just feel like I've let everyone down."

Wes pauses, lays a hand on his 'friend's' shoulder. "Not everyone." 

"What do you mean?"

********************

_Holy shit, Smosh. The one and only Smosh. And he might get the chance to work here!_

_At least, that's what Wes tells himself as he enters the door. It's a hell of of lot less crowded during the day then at night, and he can finally get a decent look at the place. It's dark, too dark. It smells like wine and cheap perfume, mixed with god knows what, and...yep, there's somebody passed out in that trash can._

_Still, this place is a monument to rock n' roll, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be._

_"Like what you see?"_

_Wes jumps, frightened by the voice. It's come from a man at the end of the bar, with glasses and slicked back black hair. Wes's heart skips a beat, because yes, he's cute, but this is Joshua Ovenshire. The man is, like, a legend in the rock circut. He toured with Led Zeppelin for years. He was at Woodstock in '66, and saw the birth of modern music. And now, he owns a bar. And he's looking for staff. "Yeah, I do. It's so...rock." he stick his hand out. "I'm Wes. I noticed you put out an ad for staffers. I can do pretty much anything. I can be a roadie, a waiter, wash dishes..."_

_Joshua, or Joven, as he's more commonly known, gives him a once over with a look that makes Wes blush. "Well, I do indeed need dish washers, but you're far too pretty for that. But..." Another appraising glance, this time one that lingers far too long. "Can you make drinks?_

_"Not too well, unfortunately. Never was my strong suit."_

_"Fantastic. This is a rock n' roll establishment, not some fancy cocktail bar." He holds his hand out to shake, and Wes feels the current go through his body. "You're hired."_

**********************

_It's a good night at Smosh. They've somehow got the Followers here tonight, playing off their new album "Boneless," and Joven can feel the roar of the crowd in his very real bones. He stopped drinking years ago, and he misses it sometimes, but the feeling of a thousand people cheering is more than a substitute. That, and the looks he keeps getting from Wes._

_Joven's accepted that he was in love with Wes a while ago, but there were never any moves made. It just felt wrong, him being the boss and Wes being an employee. Sure, they'd known each other five years now, but still. If he was wrong, if Wes didn't like him back, he'd lose the best employee and friend he'd ever had._

_Still, there are times when Joven wonders if it's a one-sided thing. When they have to pass by each other at the bar, and Wes grinds a little too hard to be unintentional. When their hands touch accidentally while passing papers and joints. When Wes had had a few drinks, and admitted that he hadn't expected him and Boze to work out in the long run, because "I'll always have other priorities."_

_Priorities might have meant the bar, sure. But it aslo, quite possibly, could have meant Joven._

_So when everything is done, and all is cleaned up, Joshua Ovenshire saddles up to the bar and gives his silver-haired barman a smile. "I've been thinking about opening up the bar to have a partner buy in with me, and I figured it might as well be someone I know. So how about it? No more slinging beers, only slinging taxes!"_

_The other man beams, knowing an offer like that from Joven is like a marriage proposal. "I'd love to."_

**********************

"You haven't let anyone down. Especially me."

The two men lock eyes, and Joven gulps. "I'm about to do something, and if it's stupid please just let me forget it, but..." 

And then he presses their lips together. 

It's a good kiss. Hell, it's a great kiss, fueled by years of desperation and repressed passion. Everything they couldn't say is being poured into that one kiss, everything that rock n' roll wouldn't allow them to do. 

When they finally break apart, it's like the world his shifted, very slightly, on its axis. The air is electric, but smooth and sweet like honey. Like a love spell. 

And then Boze comes bursting through the door, breaking the trance. "Hey boss, the beer guy's here."

"Tell him I'm busy. Busy falling in love."


	11. Any Way You Want It-Undercover Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's short, but hopefully she's good.

"How're you holding up, baby?" Mari approaches Damien, fake five dollar jewels glinting in the light of the Venus De Milo. 

"I would say men are pigs, but that'd be unfair to pigs." Damien's had a rough day. He's been grabbed at, harassed, and generally been treated like an object all day. And he's not making any damn money! In the weeks he's been working here, the pay has been shit for what he does. It's only the girls and Mari that make it tolerable. 

"You gotta make them respect you." Mama Mari places a tray of drinks on her hip. "And there's only one way to get them to respect you in this joint."

Ah yes, the stage. A hallowed ground, where you are untouchable, surrounded by men with wallets and women with promises in their eyes. Still, Damien's not fully comfortable with being a stripper. "I don't know. I'm not sure if that's what I want."

The older woman smiles gently. "That's okay, baby. But when you're up there, you can have it any way you want it."

She motions Damien to follow her, and he does. She taps the stage where one girl is working, showing off her floor moves. "Like Miel here. She loves to laugh. She loves to sing. Yeah, she does everything." Miel gets back on the pole, does another twirl. "Or what about Miss Bozey? She loves to move, she loves to groove. She loves a lot of things." Boze flips upside down, winks at the audience. "Yeah, there's one motto here. When it comes to the customer, it's any way you want it."

Any way he wants it? That sounds pretty good to Damien right now. Oh hell, fine. What's the worst thing that could happen?

********************

"Any way you want it."

Shayne is astounded. He walked into a room full of executives, hoping to be the next big thing in rock n' roll. Hell, he even had an electric guitar with him. This was going to be it!

So why, then, is Matt Raub saying that he, Shayne Robert Topp, will be joining a boy band? He most certainly will not! Sure, according to those big record execs the "rock thing" was done, and pop was the next big trend, but still! He's Munge, not an idiot in a patterned jacket sining about pop song cliches.

And yet, here he is in a patterned jacket, sining pop song cliches. The logistics of it don't even make sense. Shouldn't they at least play a gig before shooting a music video? 

"Hey, Matt Raub, shouldn't we at least playa a gig before we shoot a music video?"

The manager looks at Shayne with a look of sheer exasperation. "Sure. You want a gig? I'll get you one right now." He grabs his massive cellular phone, and dials up a number he knows by heart. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jovenshire, it's me! Matt Raub!"

"Matt Raub. You got a lot of nerve calling me after-"

"Yeah, okay okay. Listen, I'm gonna make it up to you. I need Smosh tonight. I will pack the place, floor to ceiling."

"And who is playing this supposed gig tonight?"

Shit, Matt didn't even think of that before he started making promises he couldn't keep. And he couldn't just say some boy band he'd created (they'd beat him off the Sunset Strip for that.) "Uhhh...Courtney Miller! Her first solo gig! Plus this new act you are gonna love (he tries to gloss over this point.) And this time, every cent goes to the house!"

He can hear Joven's shock through the phone. "For real? You fucking with me, Raub?"

 _Yes_. "No way, man! Every penny goes to y'all, of which there will be millions!"

A silence on the other line. Joven is no doubt conferring with his other half. Then, "Yeah. That's a yes." 

Thank God. 

Meanwhile, Shayne stands in the back, confused as to what the hell just happened, but he thinks he just booked a gig at Smosh. The biggest bar in Los Angeles. Where he used to work. 

What's the worst that could happen?


	12. Rock You Like A Hurricane

"Courtney Miller!"

_Courtney Miller!_

"Courtney Miller." Mari Takahashi looks up from her drink to see the world's biggest star walking into her strip club. "It's been too long." 

Good ol' Court gives Mama a kiss on the cheek, then turns to check out the wares-sorry, dancers-available for her tonight. 

"See anything you like?"

It's a great selection, always is at the Venus, but one in particular catches her eye. A sweet, muscular boy with soft brown hair and soft brown eyes. He looks vaguely familiar, too, but he's probably another groupie. He moves like honey, smooth and sweet, and Courtney thinks that will do, at least for tonight. Take her mind off Olivia. 

It'll never work, but it's worth a shot.

********************

"How much to make my pain go away?"

Damien never expected to be solicited by Courtney Miller, but hell, things are happening today. "I just dance."

"I like to dance. Used to dance all the time." She shifts on the couch. "Ten thousand." 

Ten grand? To sleep with Courtney Miller? Most people would do it for free. With that kind of money, Damien could do whatever he wanted. And he's done worse for what he wanted. "Why not?"

It starts off slow, like most things do. Damien does some twists around the pole, some floor work, all while being very aware of Courtney's eyes on him. Then, he feels hands on his body. She's come up to him, fingers trailing over skin and muscle. It slow, sensual even, and he hadn't expected her to be so gentle. It's time to kick it up a notch.

He takes her hand, leads her back to the couch. Hopes she can't notice his nerves. She smells like sandalwood and booze, and it's intoxicating, getting him drunk on sin. There are no morals here, no right or wrong. Only desire, and it rocks him like a hurricane. His fingers slide on smooth skin, under her coat, pushing it onto the floor. In return, she throws what little he has on into a corner. He's doesn't care where it ends up. She's on top, because she's Courtney Freakin' Miller, slowly rocking against him. It's leather pants against his own leather shorts, and nothing has ever felt so right. 

Except that it doesn't. There's something wrong in her movements, she's not into it. And neither is he. It's all animal instinct, no actual substance, and suddenly Damien is clear headed again. Neither of them really want this. It's about taking away the pain, about seeing the person you wish the other was, not who they actually are. 

And so he stops his own gyrations. She notices, opening her eyes, and he feels momentarily guilty for taking this from her, except that she so obviously doesn't actually want it. Instead, he grabs her hips and looks her in the eye. "Listen, I...I can't."

She sees the look in his eyes, and she understands. After all, she's in the same situation. She stands up, grabs her coat from the floor. doesn't bother to put it back on--after all, it's nothing they haven't already seen before. Winks at Damien. "Keep the change."

And just like that, she's gone. 


	13. Every Rose Has Its Thorn-We're Not Gonna Take It

"Excuse me, Mr Raub?"

Matt Raub turns to his receptionist, heavily involved in thought about what a nightmare his new boy band was turning out to be. "Can I fucking help you?, Erika?"

The woman raises an eyebrow, less than impressed. "Courtney Miller's Rolling Stone feature came out today." She holds up a magazine, complete with a massive shot of Courtney's face as the cover. 

_Shit._ "Shit. How bad is it?"

"Well, she's..." the woman gestures to the main office.

"On the phone?"

"Worse." She points to the office again, and Raub realizes with a flash of panic. "Oh my God."

There's nothing like trashing a place to make a rockstar feel at home. Which is why Courtney Miller has taken it upon herself at absolutely destroy the main office at Juse Records. Matt Raub is walking through glass, ash, various nefarious liquids, and god knows what else to get to Court, who seems to be in a vegetative state on the one remaining nice couch. When she sees Matt Raub, though, she simply raises a copy of Rolling Stone with her face on it.

"Yeah, I saw that. Gonna get that taken care of ASAP. That reporter will never work this town agin."

"Page sixty-eight, second paragraph." The magazine is thrown into the manager's arms. 

He takes a seat, one of the not-so-broken ones, and reads aloud. "Courtney Miller will tell you she's a cowboy, but lately she seems more like a cow who's gotten lost in the herd. But the biggest danger is the man who seems to be calling the shots; her manager, Matt Raub. A man so oily, Exon might want to rethink buying stock in him. Even the legendary Smosh isn't sacred. This reporter learned that Courtney Miller and Matt Raub walked away with practically all of the night's...proceeds." 

Courtney reaches up, takes her ever-present cowboy hat off her head. (That's how you know it's getting real.) "That part. Is it true?"

"It's...not _not_ true." Hwe scrambles, trying to come up with something to save his ass. "Hey, you know what, man? Who cares if some hack journalist took some potshots, eh? Let's just have a drink and forget about it. You're still you!" 

Then, for the first time since PADILLA was founded, he sees it. A flash of emotion on her face. It's anger, and it goes as quickly as it came, but it's still something. She stands up with a bottle of whiskey, the good kind. Slowly kisses Matt Raub on the cheek. Then proceeds to pour the entire bottle on his expensive Italian suit. "You're fired, Matt."

***********************

 _Really?_ Of all the places in all the world, _really?_ He just had to show up to Damien's? 

Ok, sure, Damien doesn't own the place where they had their first date, but it sure feels like he does. And he just has the _audacity_ to show up here first, on public property, and not even acknowledge him? That's just rockstar rude. 

"Damien?"

Shit, he noticed him. "Hey, Shayne! How, uh, how are you?" He doesn't care, he really doesn't (that's what he tells himself.)

Shayne nods. "Yeah, I'm good. Quitting Smosh really helped out my music career. Got signed and everything." (Yeah, signed by an asshole who made him join a boyband. He understands now why rockstars have drug problems.)

"Same here. I'm a dancer now. I teach aerobics." (Damien's a stripper.)

Hell of outfits they're wearing, for a rockstar and an aerobics teacher. Shayne's got his dorky patterned jacket, Damien has his stripper outfit plus a light jacket. Neither of them believe the other for even a second. 

"So, ever see Courtney again? Y'know, after your big fling?" Dammit Shayne, way to put your foot in your mouth. 

Something in Damien's head flickers, a lightbulb he can't seem to turn on all the way. "Wait, you think we..."

"I don't think, I know. The night I played, I saw you walking out of her dressing room. She was zipping up her pants. Seemed pretty obvious."

The lightbulb in Damien's head flickers to full brightness, then shatters. Months of emotion come out all at once. "You think I slept with Courtney Miller?"

And that's when Shayne's own brain turns on, and he realizes he's an idiot. "You didn't?"

"I was in love with you." 

_Holy fuck._

Oh God, Shayne messed up bad. What can he do to fix the situation? "Damien, can we start over. We can fix thi-"

His counterpart whirls around. "I"m a stripper at The Venus De Milo."

"Yeah, well, I'm in a boy band." 

Damien takes a minute to realize he's serious, then is horrified and mildly amused. "You win."

 _No, no. I lose if I don't have you._ "Here." He reaches into his pocket, pulls out something he keeps on him all the time. "It's a record of the song I wrote for you. Please, just listen to it." 

Damien smiles his gentle smile, takes the tape. "I will."

As he leaves, the gravity of Shayne's mistake hits him. He could have lost the love of his life over an assumption that was proven wrong in one conversation. He could have saved their love that night, if he had known what to say. This must be some kind of record for fuck ups.

Wait-record. A record. Hell, he may not know what to say, but maybe the music would do it better. 

*********************

"Damien? Someone dropped this off for you." 

_Who the hell would send him a bunch of records? Motley Crue, Van Halen, His Side, what the-_

_Oh my god._

*********************

"Rolling Stone. Also, it's ten at night, we're closed."

"Put Olivia on the phone."

"She's not here. She's at Smosh, covering Courtney Miller's first solo concert."

A pause. "I have a concert?"

"Are you Courtney Miller?"

_Dial tone._

********************

"People! We must obey bureaucracy, despite my better wishes, so please stay in the barricades!"

Nobody listens to Wes. He din't expect them to. 

On the other side of the street, Sohinki is just about ready to claim victory over the ruffians. Once this protest is done, they'll storm the building and demand tax documents. When they prove that Smosh is broke, they can-

 _What_ is that insufferable noise?

_We built this city, we built this city on rock an' roll_   
_Built this city, we built this city on rock an' roll_

Are they playing Jefferson Starship? Now? It almost moves Sohinki, makes him think of his rock days, but he forces himself to stop. Those days are dead and gone. No more of that. The child he was is dead and gone. Courtney Miller made sure of that.

And yet.

******************

God, who are all these people, and why are they in the way of Courtney's limo? Don't they know she has a concert tonight? 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone. And no fucking way. He looks different; his hair has been cropped short and he's wearing a suit, but it's still him.

It's her Sohinks. 

He's got a filthy expression, and he's screaming. She always did like him screaming. And he recognizes her too, folding in the same way he did all those years ago. 

"Sohinks. I see you've still got a very big...personality."

Matt Sohinki faints.

And that's when Wes remembers him.

************************

He served this man, ten years back. He remembers being flirted with for free drinks. He remembers him and Boze obsessing over PADILLA to the fullest extent they could in a crowned concert venue. He remembers the inside cover of PADILLA live at Smosh, nineteen seventy-seven, which features a mostly naked Sohinki sitting on Courtney's lap, drinking champagne with her. he was a groupie. In many ways, he never stopped being one.

He does indeed have a big personality.

Wes takes this outside, to the waiting reporters. This is his moment to do what he needs to do, for Smosh.

For Joven.

***********************

Mayor David "Lasercorn" Moss sees this evidence and stands up so fast he accidentally dumps a half dressed Ian on the floor.

Well, fuck.

*****************


	14. Don't Stop Believing (Finale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, we made it to the end! Thank you for all the support on my first multichapter fic!

_There she is._

Olivia Sui, in a much less conservative outfit than last time they met. Dancing without a care in the world to another opening band that nobody will ever hear from again. The crowds part automatically for Courtney Miller, everyone hoping to get a piece, but she only has eyes for one woman, and that woman only has eyes for her. 

Because this is it. This is the only drug either of them will ever need or know again. Fuck everything and everyone else, they all fade away now. This is about the two women who have managed to find a bond in a place where they both thought it impossible. Rock n' roll isn't known for creating bonds, and it's notorious for breaking them up, but sometimes the stars align, the planest are in just the right spot, and the music creates a perfect melody.

Maybe this melody has Warrant's "Cherry Pie" playing in the background and girls pawing at Courtney to get close to fame. Who cares? It's theirs. 

*****************

"All right, calm down, you pile of pestilence. Now, later tonight, we will have the legendary Courtney Miller take the stage, but for now, we have the less important but somehow still here band of..." Wes's words fall off as he looks at the name in his hands. "Really, Shayne?"

Shayne shrugs from behind the curtain.

His boy band proceeds to go on. Joven, in the audience as always, seeks out his mate. "Who the hell are these?"

Wes shrugs.

So they seek out Matt Raub, who is in a corner pretending to enjoy it. "Who the hell are these?"

"You don't like them? They're gonna be huge soon, trust me. Pop is where it's at." 

Joven and Wes exchange looks that say they will die before admitting that pop is where it's at. 

*********************

Shayne is generally having a bad time onstage tonight. He's playing a bar full of rock fiends that keep booing him. Listen, he's not exactly happy about it either. 

But then, in the distance, a shimmering light.

Damien. 

He came, despite everything in his rational mind telling him not to. He's got a bag of records. The ones from Shayne. The ones that say "I love you." 

Their melody converges, and it's like nothing ever heard before. 

"Hey, Shayne Zabo, if all these people want refunds, my club will close!" And there's Joven, looking like a grumpy old man as always. He's got a point this time. 

And Damien knows just what to do. He has to take the stage. 

So he kicks out the boy band, whose name he didn't bother to learn. "All right! Now that's that over, I'd like to welcome someone very special to the stage. Please welcome the one and only, MUNGE!" (Yes, all capitols. Because he's dramatic like that.) "Oh, and, uh, Matt Raub" he turns to face the man himself, who is red in the face from anger, "you're fired."

The crowd explodes.

"Now, who's ready to rock!?"

*************************

_Just a small town girl_

_Livin' in a lonely world_

_She took the midnight train going anyplace_

_Just a city boy_

_Born and raised in South Detroit_

_Took the midnight train going anywhere_

_It's a nice day for a white wedding. The grooms are adorned in their finest leather jackets, nervous as the day they first met. The venue smells of wine and cheap perfume, but it' s the smell of home. At least there's no one in the trash cans yet. The Aquanet cancels out any fashion faux pas, because god forbid someone's hair deflates even a bit during the ceremony. Joven and his husband have front row seats to the event, right at the bar. Wes has learned to mix cocktails out of juice, and Joven can honestly admit that he doesn't miss the booze. Things like this are so much better ten years sober._

_Courtney and Olivia are desperately trying to wrangle up the kids, and failing miserably. Who knew Smosh wasn't childproof? (That should be everyone. Everyone knew.)_

_Mama Mari sits on the floor, no apprehension in her stance. She knew that this was where they all belonged._

_Sohinki is here, in full metal mode. He gave up trying to be good several years ago. Now, he's just trying not to get caught._

_(His ex-husband is not here. David and Ian are somewhere in the Bahamas trying to ignore the painful divorce settlement.)_

_And as for me? Well, I can't say I don't miss the eighties. It was one of the best times of my life. But you know ya boi! I'm a restless soul. I come with the wind and go for broke. There will be other decades. What matters is that you take advantage of each and every one of them, because you only have time till it's gone._

_Shayne and Damien share their first kiss as a married couple._

_And it's all all right._

**Author's Note:**

> This will be basically a longform crackfic and I have no regrets none.  
> I really hope you like this! It's my first multichapter fic and any feedback, comments or kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> LET'S ROCK!  
> <3


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